Father's Day
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: Nothing is ever easy when you're a Winchester, not even a simple celebration. But regardless of heartache, frustration or misfortune, Sam and Dean will always be there to help each other through, no matter what. Weechester/Teenchester. Pre-series. One-Shot.
1. Chapter 1

John had made another fucking promise.

Dean could tell.

Sam kept looking up from his homework to stare at the front door.

The slam of every car door had the younger boy glancing out the window

He was waiting for someone.

Waiting for their father.

Dean frowned as he rested back against the headboard and watched the shaggy head pop up to look out the window before dropping back down to focus on the workbook open on the table. Dean had begged John to stop making promises, especially to Sam. Dean could take the disappointment of his father's broken vows – hell, it was practically the norm – but Sam was still a kid. A kid who had faith in his dad and put trust in his words, regardless of how many times the elder Winchester had let him down. He was a child who had not yet learned how little to expect from his father.

Dean didn't know what kind of declarations his dad had made, but based on the frequency of which Sam's eyes scoured the parking lot, the teen knew that John had at least promised to return today.

It was Father's Day.

Well, for another couple hours, anyways.

Dean had known his little brother was wanting their dad to come around at some point today, naturally, but he realized now that it was more than that, it was more than hope, it was expectation.

He had bee promised.

Dean clenched his teeth, aggravated by the hunter's carelessness.

Father's Day was one of the numerous dates on the calendar that John Winchester was not a fan of.

It was one of the few holidays Dean could recall never being favored even before his Mother's death – after which nearly every day of celebration had been altered into a day of grievance. Father's Day had never been a big deal, even when Mary had tried to make it one. Dean could remember this particular day causing friction between his parents, back when he had just been a toddler. Mary had prepared a small family celebration and John had elected to put in over-time hours at work rather than take part. Dean had been too young to really comprehend, but he knew enough now to understand that his dad was not a fan of Father's Day. The teen was aware that John's own father hadn't been around, which would explain the man's dislike for a day dedicated to celebrating dads. It was a sore spot, one of the many John now had.

Dean got that, really, he did.

Who would enjoy a day that revolved around an absentee parent? That reminded them that they hadn't been enough for that person to stick around? That habitually brought forth all their feelings of anger and abandonment?

No one would want that.

What Dean didn't understand, what he couldn't wrap his mind around, was how John could do this to Sam.

Dean couldn't begin to comprehend how his father could be so selfish. Father's Day was probably shit for John growing up, and Dean really didn't care if the man wanted to celebrate it or not, but Sam did.

And for that reason alone, John should have shown up today – not to mention that he fucking _promised_.

Dean had been fairly certain their dad wouldn't be around, he hadn't been all week and in the elder hunter's books, today wasn't any different – if not more of a reason to stay away. So the teen had done what big brothers are supposed to do, he had tried to make their grim reality okay for Sam and he had done that by distracting the hell out of the kid.

They had gone to the park and played soccer for most of the morning, and then gotten lunch at the hotdog vendor in town, followed by ice-cream at the shop down the street from the motel, after which the rain brought them inside and they played poker - betting Oreos while they viewed a Chuck Norris marathon on TV. It had been pizza for dinner, accompanied with more western classics until dark when Sam insisted on doing his homework. He had one last assignment to complete, his last week of school beginning tomorrow. The high school in town had already been out on Summer break for weeks, so Dean was left watching Chuck Norris kick ass, while Sam focused on his work, or tried to amidst the distraction of staring at the door and out the window, waiting for John to appear.

Dean didn't know what he was supposed to do, he didn't know how to solve this one. He couldn't make John come home, though he wished more than anything that was a viable option. And he couldn't make Sam stop wanting to celebrate things or stop wanting his father. Dean could make excuses for John, heaven knows he's done it a million times before, but he knew Sam was getting too old for that shit. As hopeful and wishful as the kid could be at times, he wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't buy into the excuses, he never really had, even when he was younger – even before he knew about the supernatural world.

Sam had always been far too smart for his own good.

No, lame excuses were no longer going to work, and Dean would simply be damaging his own relationship with Sam and the trust that the younger boy placed in him, by asking him to believe bullshit excuses. And _that_ was something the older boy refused to do, even for the sake of his father.

Dean dropped his head back against the headboard, loathing the impossible position he was in.

He couldn't fix this. He couldn't transform John into the father that Sam needed, and he couldn't destroy his little brother by telling him to abandon all hope. He had to just sit there uselessly and watch their dad disappoint Sam once again. He'd have to keep waiting and watching until the final straw. Until John broke so many promises that he lost all of Sam's trust and faith. That wasn't what Dean wanted, not by a long shot, but he could see the writing on the wall.

The youngest Winchester was more forgiving and more gracious than either of the other two combined, or any human being Dean had ever come in contact with. But everyone has their limits. A soul can only be put through the same pain so many times before it learns how to protect itself. That's evolution, it's human nature, to learn to protect yourself from repeated agony – even if it means losing faith in your father and denying yourself permission to trust him.

That was the very fucking reason why Dean had begged John to stop making promises.

Not because it made him a liar (there were worse things in life), or even because Dean was sick of having to standby and play witness to Sam's perpetual disappointment, but because the middle Winchester could see the approaching disaster.

Sam had never seen John in the same light that Dean did.

Dean had known his father before evil had consumed his life. He had known the man's heart before it had hardened. He understood and even felt the rage and injustice that had sent John out into the darkness.

Dean knew what the supernatural world had taken from the Winchesters.

It took more than Mary, as if that wouldn't have been enough of a reason to seek vengeance. It took John's light. It dismantled Dean's childhood. And it snatched Sam's home. The supernatural evil needed to pay for all it stole from the Winchesters.

It deserved to be hunted and burned to ash.

Dean understood that.

Sam did not.

How could he? You can't grieve what you never had. Sam didn't know the love that could be felt through a mother's touch. Or the joy that could be found in the care-free ways of a father. He didn't know the peace and security that filled a stable home.

Sam had no idea what he had truly lost that night evil stormed into their lives.

Dean understood their father's rage and his savage pursuit for revenge, because he understood his motivations and knew that deep down his dad was still a good man, despite how much of himself he was losing each day.

He understood the end game and the necessity for it.

He comprehended John's intentions and therefor felt little need to question his actions.

It was different for Sam.

He didn't have any frame of reference to the man John Winchester once was, the person he had been before, all Sam could see was a man who had been broken by loss and who grew bitter and more distant with each passing day. Sam didn't carry the same anger that consumed their father, the same anger that would have become Dean if he hadn't had a sensitive kid to look out for, to raise.

John wanted Sam to understand. He had tried to explain it before, get the youngest Winchester to comprehend the mission, the importance and necessity of hunting down every supernatural fugly and making all those sonsuvbitches pay. Their dad wanted Sam to get it so that he would embrace the hunting life and stop questioning everything. And sure, Dean could see where his father was coming from, and he knew that it would certainly save John's relationship with the youngest Winchester if Sam were to truly understand the totality and agony of their family trauma.

But that was the last fucking thing Dean wanted.

Sam was soft, kind, gentle, and just so goddamn _good_. Dean would never do anything to taint that and he wouldn't allow John to either. He didn't want Sam to have any part in the anger, bitterness, or darkness that accompanied the depth of grief and vengeance.

No, Dean didn't want Sam to take on any of that. He didn't want him to be like the two older hunters. Sam was different. He was better. And John was going to having to find a way to deal with that. It wasn't Sam's job to understand their father and his confusing as fuck motivations and mood shifts, it was John's job as the bloody parent to understand his youngest child; to get it through his thick head that Sam wasn't hardened by tragedy, that he was intelligent and inquisitive, sensitive and caring. He needed to be treated with a gentle touch, and not be simply brushed aside. He required patience and explanation and sometimes sensitivity – which wasn't always easy when it didn't come naturally.

But it was so fucking worth it.

For Sam, it was always worth it. To be granted his trust and faith and his unconditional love, it was worth everything.

And for the life of him, Dean couldn't comprehend why John didn't get that.

"Dean? You okay?"

They were the first words Sam had spoken in quite sometime. They were soft and concerned because even through his own disappoint, Sam was worried for his big brother.

Because that's who he was.

Dean forced his jaw to unclench, hearing it crack as he opened it and attempted to appear a little less perturbed.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm good." He assured.

Sam's smile was only slightly more forced than the one Dean had given him.

The small frame hunched back over the table, as the teen shook his head, hoping to physically dislodge the thoughts dominating his mind.

"You nearly finished there, kiddo? It's late." Dean commented, glancing at the alarm clock on the side-table, the glowing red lights showing that it was nearly eleven. He watched as the younger boy glanced up at the motel room door, out the window, and then over at the digital clock before returning his gaze to the tabletop.

"Not yet." He mumbled.

Dean pursed his lips. The kid was already tired, and he was going to be straight-up exhausted in school tomorrow. But he let it slide, because he knew that even if he sent Sam to bed, he would just fight sleep from the mattress while he waited for John. With a frown, Dean turned his gaze back to the television, though most of his attention remained on the motel room door and the shaggy-headed child waiting for it to open.

Dean didn't bother hoping for much anymore, he never saw the point, but he found himself wishing for all he was worth that John Winchester would march his stupid-ass right through that damn door.

Unsurprisingly, Dean had no luck, the door never opened.

Sam gave up waiting at half past midnight, closing his workbook with a soft sigh that sounded both mournful and resigned – it damn near broke Dean's heart. The young boy disappeared into the cramped bathroom to get on with his nightly routine of brushing his teeth and changing into his sleep clothes. Dean sat, sliding the remote rhythmically through his hands, staring blankly at the television – trying to think of something he could say to make this better.

Turns out that not even Chuck Norris could help him with that.

Dean still hadn't come up with a single fucking useful thing to say when Sam exited the bathroom. His eyes tracked the sleepy child as he took the school work he had tossed on the bed and slid it cautiously into his backpack, zipping up the large compartment before opening the smaller one and pulling out a folded piece of paper and something small and shiny. The two items were placed gently on the center of the kitchen table, angled towards the door, strategically positioned to be seen upon entry.

Father's Day gifts, Dean surmised after a moment of thought, his heart aching. Dean had given up on those things years ago, but not Sam. He loved celebrating the little things, he adored traditions, craved normalcy, and he just cared so fucking much.

Dean looked back at the TV, pretending to be distracted when Sam began to shuffle across the shag carpet towards the bed the brothers had been sharing since they arrived in town. The older boy felt the mattress dip only slightly as the small frame slid beneath the sheet and Sam situated himself on his right side – where he still had a vantage point of the door, a fact which was not lost on Dean. The teen turned the volume down on the western movie, before pulling the chain on the bedside lamp and plunging the room into relative darkness.

"You don't have to turn it down. It wasn't that loud." Sam stated softly.

"It's fine, not like I don't have this shit memorised anyways." Dean couldn't count the number of times he had seen that particular flick. It would seem no matter how shitty their living arrangements were, every television had at least two channels and one of those was always playing old western movies or TV shows.

"You could leave the light on, I don't mind." Sam added, never wanting to be an inconvenience or a bother, because he still didn't seem to understand how fucking impossible that was.

"Nah, I'm going to grab some shuteye." Dean declared, as he climbed swiftly out of bed and changed into his own set of sleep clothes – a grey t-shirt and a ratty set of thin pajama pants. Slipping back into bed – the side closest to the door – Dean was careful not to block his brother's view of the door as he shimmied under the sheet and stretched out on his back.

"Night, Sammy." He said, wishing he had something better to say. Wishing that he had more to give.

"Night, De." Sam whispered, his tired gaze still trained on the door, even as his blinks became slower and longer by the minute.

Dean tried to swallow the lump in his throat, praying to a God he didn't believe in that tomorrow would be a better day, as he observed the silent horse chase playing out on the screen, drifting off to sleep soon after the Sheriff caught his man.

John made his grand entrance at four-thirty-five in the morning, according to the neon numbers displayed on the alarm clock. Dean's hand was grasping the knife beneath his pillow at the same time he recognized the figure in the doorframe. He watched through slit eyes as John lumbered into the room, his gate lacking the lethal grace it normally possessed. Dean's first thought was injury and he was about to leverage himself up off the mattress, when the unmistakable stench of alcohol filled his sinuses.

The loud clumsy movements of the experienced hunter were not a side-effect of pain, but rather an over consumption of liquor. The teen swallowed a sigh as he pressed his face back into the pillow, his eyes tracking his father's noisy journey into the small space. He felt himself tense as John appeared to notice the objects on the table, which was surprising due to his inebriated state. Dean glanced to his left, spotting his brother's hazel gaze trained across the room, the teen's anxiety instantly sky-rocketed.

 _Please don't fuck this up, Dad._ Dean thought, willing John not to do anything stupid or careless – though his drunken state made the chance of that slim to none.

The large man stopped by the rickety kitchenette table, swaying slightly as he picked up the card, not even flipping it open, before discarding it back on the marked-up surface. He then reached down, toying with the remaining object for a moment, before pulling his hand away as though he'd been burned and stumbling to the bed closest to the door, where he collapsed onto his front, the mattress and frame squeaking in complaint with the harsh drop.

Dean felt frozen, his jaw cracking from the force of which it was being clenched. Sam's eyes were closed, but the older boy knew the child wasn't asleep. The brothers both remained still and silent, until loud, steady, snoring began to sound from John's bed, which prompted Sam to slide out from beneath the shared sheet and step silently onto the floor. Dean watched as the slender frame made its way to the table, removing both the folded paper and the smaller item, placing them promptly in the trash before returning to bed. Sam laid down on his left side this time, facing the wall, his body curling up – making him appear impossibly smaller.

"Sammy." Dean called softly, almost relieved when he received not response, because what the fuck was he going to say next? Nothing. There was no excuse he could make, no bullshit story he could spin, there was _nothing_ he could do to make anything better.

He was fucking useless.

But as the teen watched his little brother's slim form begin to tremble ever-so-slightly and heard the nearly-silent sniffles, thinking became unnecessary and instinct took control. With no hesitation, Dean shifted closer to the center of the bed, and reached out, curling his arm around his brother's thin waist and gently pulling the child over to him, not stopping until Sam was positioned right against this chest. In less than a minute, the young boy had turned to face his brother, burrowing into him, pressing his face against Dean's collarbone as he cried softly.

Dean wrapped both arms around his kid, holding him tight, feeling the shaggy hair tickle his chin as he placed a chaste kiss atop the younger boy's head.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry, kiddo." He whispered, feeling the child's silent tears begin to soak through his shirt.

Sam's only reply was to wrap his small arms around the older boy, his distress causing his frame to tremble just a little harder.

Dean returned the pressure, hugging Sam with more force and pulling him impossibly closer.

"M'here, Sammy. M'here." He assured, not sure the promise of his presence would make a difference, but desperately wanting to provide some level of comfort. "I'm right here." He vowed. "Right here, Sammy." He repeated, wishing he could hug the hurt right out of his kid.

Soft hair brushed against his face as his little brother nodded, his harsh breaths beginning to ease and level out.

Dean held his kid until his boney shoulders ceased shaking and his tears stopped dampening the fabric of the teen's shirt. He held on until the young boy finally submitted to his body's need for sleep, after which Dean proceeded to hold Sammy tight in his arms.

John didn't deserve Sam.

Neither did Dean. But at least he knew that, he understood that Sam was different and better, and just so fucking _good_. He knew that the youngest Winchester was kind and inquisitive and sensitive, and that not one of those was a fucking weakness. Dean got that his kid brother needed patience and a softer touch, and accommodating that was not coddling or babying, Sam was simply different than Dean or John and he needed to be treated as such. Dean was well aware that understanding and raising Sam could be work, but was the most worthwhile thing he had ever done. It was a gift. It made him more. It made him a better person. And maybe it even made him a little good.

Dean comprehended that celebrating the little things wasn't frivolous or juvenile, it was an expression of love – at least that was how Sam saw it. And Dean knew that when you care about someone, you learn to speak the language that they best understand.

John didn't get that.

He loved his sons, that was a fact that Dean had never once questioned – not for a moment.

John and Dean spoke the same language, which made it easy for the eldest Winchester son to see the love that was there.

But Sam was different.

He had different experiences, a different outlook, a different understanding, and a different language. He was showing his love for John in his language, and he needed that love to be accepted and returned in that same language. Because he was a fucking child and it wasn't his job to have to decipher actions or read between the lines to try and piece his parent's intentions together, it was his father's goddamn job to understand his son and how he communicated and be able to reciprocate that.

It was John's job to put in the fucking effort of being a parent and learning to understand his youngest child. And if he didn't, if he couldn't manage to learn Sam's language, then he was going to lose him. He was going to lose any resemblance of a relationship with his smallest son, just as he was destroying Sam's trust and faith in him by never keeping his word.

Sam just needed his love accepted and returned in a way he could understand it; and if John didn't hurry the fuck up and figure out how to do that, eventually, Dean's family would be split in two.

His family was all he had, he couldn't imagine having it fractured – again.

Dean swallowed his anxiety, feeling Sam's warm breath against his collarbone and his heartbeat against his chest, as he held his kid close – allowing the contact to ease his fears.

Because no matter what happened, no matter what went down between his father and brother, now and in the distant future – no matter what – Dean would _always_ have Sam.

He would always try his hardest to understand his complex little brother.

He would always be sure to take time to hear Sam and speak his language.

He would always make certain that Sam knew how loved he was.

He would always take care of his little brother and put him first.

He would always protect the youngest Winchester.

He would always be there for his kid.

No matter what.

The next morning while Sam and John were still fast asleep, Dean would dig the handmade Father's Day card from the trash and place it neatly and safely in the bottom of his duffel, he would then dig the second object from the garbage bin – which he would discover to be a money-clip.

And weeks later when Sam would notice that simple silver clasp around Dean's meager stack of bills, a brilliantly bright dimpled smile would light up his young face, and the child would know just how very loved he was.

Because that was all the kid wanted.

To know that someone on this fucked-up planet gave a shit about him.

To know that he was understood.

To know that he mattered.

To know that he was loved.

And loving Sam was the easiest fucking thing Dean had ever done.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I know it's a week late, but in my defense I wasn't going to write this - the idea came to me when I was editing _More than Enough_ and I couldn't help myself even though Father's Day had already gone by. Anyways, hopefully someone still enjoys it!

* * *

Sam woke up tucked securely into his brother's chest.

His forehead was pressed against the warn material of the older boy's t-shirt and each of the teen's exhales were ghosting through the shaggy hair. Long arms were wrapped securely around the smaller frame and the younger boy could hear each of his brother's heartbeats.

Sam smiled softly at the feeling of Dean surrounding him.

He allowed himself another moment to rest in the peace and safety that was his big brother. Sam felt as though nothing could harm him – not the monsters that went bump in the night, not the bullies on the playground, not even John Winchester's dismissive behaviour – _nothing_.

Sam was invincible when he was wrapped in Dean.

A part of him wanted to stay where he was and hide from the world until he felt strong enough to venture out into it once again. He wanted nothing more than to remain where he was, absorbing every drop of protection and love that his big brother had to offer. Sam _needed_ it – especially after last night and how eviscerated he had felt after watching his dad discard the Father's Day gift his youngest had left out for him. Sam curled further into Dean at the recollection, sighing softly as he felt strong arms tighten reflexively around him.

Yes, he wanted to stay where it was _safe_ , where he felt like he mattered, with Dean.

But the world wouldn't wait until Sam was prepared to face it.

And neither would school.

He frowned at the thought before reluctantly disentangling himself for his big brother. Dean frowned and began to stir, causing Sam to place a palm on the teen's chest, leaving it over his heartbeat until he settled, his expression smoothing out slightly save for the crease between his eyes from the eyebrows that were drawn together – the remnants of his scowl.

Sam shook his head fondly at how hyper-aware Dean always was to the younger boy. The teen had always called it his 'Sammy-sense' and as absurd as that notion may be, Sam had a difficult time denying it. He knew the fact that his brother hadn't woken the moment Sam pulled away was a testament to how exhausted the young hunter was. Sam had noticed it last night when he had been trying to finish his homework while waiting for John to arrive, Dean had zoned out more than once during the evening as he sat on the bed fiddling with the remote, though of course when Sam had asked about it the teen had claimed he was fine. But the younger boy knew better, he saw the dark circles beneath the green eyes and it didn't escape him one bit how quickly Dean had fallen to sleep after laying down. The badass hunter could deny it all he wanted, but Sam knew his big brother was exhausted.

Dad had been running them ragged for weeks – Dean especially. Sam had hoped Father's Day would provide them all a much needed break, and he supposed it did in a way; there hadn't been any training or research or hunting, though the reason for that had been because John hadn't arrived back at the motel until sometime after four in the morning, and not because the small Winchester family was taking time to celebrate the special occasion like Sam had naively hoped they would. It hadn't been the day Sam had hoped for, but Dean had made it better. The way he always did.

Sam gently patted the sleeping boy's chest, glancing at the time before pulling his hand away and crawling carefully to the end of the mattress, sliding off the bed without waking the vigilante teenager. He crept between the two beds, carefully picking up the digital clock that was displaying a time of six-thirty-seven and switching off the alarm that was set to go off in just under an hour.

He wanted to go to school early and wrap up the homework he nearly finished last night and there was no way he was dragging Dean out of bed just to walk with him – though he had not a single doubt in his mind that his big brother would want exactly that. The town they in wasn't by any means the safest. The motel they were staying at was located in the center of downtown and though both the elementary and high school were only a couple blocks a way, the route to get to them involved walking past two bars, one strip joint, and an alley that was usually occupied by a group of dealers that had all taken turns offering both Sam and Dean various types of narcotics in the past. The less than desirable environment was why the older boy had continued to wake up and walk Sam to school each day even weeks after the high school had already let out for the summer.

No, Dean would not be impressed when he woke up and found Sam had made the trip to school on his own, but Sam would risk the lecture if it got the exhausted teenager a few more hours of rest.

The youngest Winchester made sure to stay on the balls of his feet as he crept around the motel room, not wanting to disturb Dean and definitely wary of waking his father. A hungover John Winchester was not a creature you wanted to disturb and as loud as he snored, he was still a pretty light sleeper – it was for that reason that Sam chose not to risk making any additional noise by fixing himself breakfast or packing a lunch. He slipped soundlessly out of the room, satisfied with himself when neither of the hunters were disturbed.

"Hey kid!"

Sam ignored the call, picking up his pace, nearly tripping over a crevice in the sidewalk.

"Hey!"

The guy had been following him since the motel, where Sam had seen him a few times in the past, but he had been walking far enough back that the youngest Winchester hadn't been too concerned. Sam had figured the middle-aged man was heading to the alley situated between the bar and the strip joint down the street, because the young boy new full-well what it was that man did at the motel – had been an unintentional witness to several of his not-so-subtle drug deals.

"Kid!"

Sam flinched as he felt someone grab hold of his backpack and spin around, before ripping the bag from the stranger's grip.

"Whoah, chill, dude! I ain't gonna hurtcha."

Sam still took a step back, because even if the man claimed he wasn't a physical threat he was still towering over the small student.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, already planning his escape route in his head, his fingers twitching toward the butterfly knife Dean always made sure he kept stashed in the side pocket of his bookbag.

"Just wanted to make you an offer." The man replied, his grin putting a set of yellowed and blackened teeth on display.

"I'm not interested." Sam dismissed, turning and walking back towards the school.

"C'mon kid, I know there ain't no way that brother of yours shares his stash." The dealer bargained, thankfully not making an effort to stop Sam but instead electing to walk backwards so he was moving right in front of the kid.

Sam bristled at the mention of Dean, but bit down on his tongue and kept walking, hoping to end the unwanted interaction.

"You know what, bud, I'll just give you a sample, yeah? Free of charge!"

Before Sam could respond the man was reaching over him and he could hear the sound of his bag unzipping.

"Hey—

Sam didn't have time to finish his objection before he heard his backpack being closed once again and the dealer was stepping away.

"Let me know when you're ready for more – I'll give you the family discount that brother of yours is probably stiffing you on." He commented with a smile and a wink before walking away and back towards the alley.

A full-body shiver ran through the young boy and it had nothing to do with the cool morning breeze – it was all Sam could do to not run the rest of the way to school, but he forced himself to walk, not wanting to show that anything had gotten to him.

He found the needle when he sat in the library and pulled out his homework. He wanted to toss it away but thought it was too risky to do while at school – that and he didn't want any of the younger kids finding it, so he wrapped it up in a paper towel and tucked it in to the small zipper pocket inside the main compartment of his bag where it remained for the rest of the morning.

Sam had planned to just skip lunch because he hadn't packed anything and didn't have any money, but when the time came around and lunch break began, he was exhausted and hungry and his head was pounding – and in all honesty, he just wanted to see his big brother; so he decided to walk back to the motel to grab some food. Thankfully, the short trip was uneventful, but as Sam made his way through the parking lot, nearing the Impala, he could hear shouting from the direction of the room the Winchesters had been occupying since they arrived in town.

John Winchester's voice boomed through the paper-thin walls; Sam could hear it while still being nearly ten feet from the door. As he moved closer, he could hear Dean's voice in reply, the anger in it clear as day even though it wasn't raised liked their father's. Sam slowed his steps upon hearing his name amidst his Dad's shouting. The younger boy frowned, wondering what he could have possibly done to cause the current conflict. He paused a few feet from the door, hearing his name a couple more times but still unable to make out any specifics as to what the issue was. He didn't want to walk into the room only to be yelled at, his head was already killing him, but he didn't want to leave Dean to take the blame for whatever it was Sam had done wrong. That wasn't fair. Just as he made his decision to enter the battlefield, the door swung open and John stormed his way out. The bags beneath his eyes and pinched expression made it clear the older man was experiencing one hell of a hangover – and the way he carried himself and the clenched fists were an obvious display of his anger. John spared his youngest a glance, his eyebrows rising in momentary surprise – likely at Sam's presence – before a quick flash of regret took over, which was chased away with a look of anger so quickly it practically made the younger boy dizzy just watching it all. Before Sam could do so much as utter a syllable, his dad brushed past him and marched straight for the car.

"Be back in a week." Was all he bit out as he tossed his duffle in the trunk.

Sam nodded, the motion likely going undetected as John's eyes did not find him again as he dropped behind the wheel and the Impala tore out of the parking lot.

"Sammy? What the hell are you doing here?"

He turned around at the sound of his big brother.

Dean was standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted. Any extra sleep he had gotten that morning didn't seem to have had much of an effect, the dark shadows remaining all too present beneath his eyes. His hair was ruffled the way it got after he ran his hands through it a few too many times. His expression was pinched with frustration, but his green gaze looked damn near mournful. He had on jeans and a sweatshirt – the hoody making Dean look smaller than Sam remembered his big brother ever being.

"I, uh, I was coming back for lunch." Sam supplied, his mind still trying to figure out what had happened in his absence.

"You didn't take one?" Dean asked, moving out into the parking lot in his socks, just to snag Sam's elbow and usher him into the room.

Sam glanced around, seeing no evidence of the argument that had occurred, everything was still in place except for John's duffle. "No, I didn't want to wake anyone." He responded, continuing to scan the room.

"Dude, don't worry about that. You can't not eat because you might make a sound. That's stupid." Dean proclaimed, hands on his hips as he levelled Sam with a look of disapproval.

"You were tired."

Dean scowled, not buying the defense.

"And you know how Dad can be when you wake him up after he's been out…late." _Out drowning himself in liquor_ , was Sam's original thought, but he amended it, not wanting to cause his big brother to bristle.

"It doesn't matter. I don't care about how anyone would react, that's their problem – you don't need to be walking around on eggshells and starving your skinny ass just to keep the peace. That's not your job. You're just a kid."

The last remark was said much softer than the others, so much so that Sam didn't believe he was supposed to have heard it.

"It's fine. It's a short walk." Sam commented, knowing he still had about forty-five minutes before he had to be back at school.

"Speaking of which, you should have woken me up this morning. I would have gone with you." Dean stated, his frown still firmly in place.

Sam shrugged, dropping his bookbag on one of the rickety kitchen chairs.

"You got any idea how much it freaked me out, waking up and you were just gone?" Dean asked, the parental tone almost powerful enough to hide the sliver of fear that was hidden beneath, but Sam heard it loud and clear.

"I left a note." He pointed out, knowing full well that vanishing without telling his big brother where he was headed was liable to send Dean into a full-blown panic.

"I know, but I could have done without the mini-heart-attack I had before I got close enough to the table to read it." The teen exclaimed, though there was no anger or irritation behind his words, simply slight exasperation.

Sam was about to point out that his brother was far too young to be experiencing any level of cardiac arrest and that perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, when he spotted the Father's Day card he had made for his dad laying on the floor between the two beds.

"You want some leftover pizza from yesterday? Or I could make you a PB&J, or there should be a couple of those TV dinners left. It's a pain in the ass only having a microwave to cook with – this motel is shit." Dean narrated from the kitchenette around the corner.

"PB&J is fine." Sam responded distractedly, as he picked up the card he knew he'd tossed away hours ago. It had been flat when he'd tossed it, but was now sporting quite a few creases that suggested it was not handled too carefully before finding its way to the shag carpet.

Sam frowned, not appreciating any of the scenarios running through his head that explained how the homemade card ended up wrinkled on the floor. Sam moved back to the garbage bin and dropped the folded paper back down into the trash where it belonged.

"Hey! Would you quit it with that already." Dean snapped, appearing out of nowhere and snatching the card out from inside the trashcan and smoothing out the crinkles.

Well, that explained how the craft had escaped that garbage the first time around, Dean had obviously fished it out; but he wouldn't have then discarded it on the ground, not in a million years, which meant that John – Sam shook his head, not wanting to follow that particular train of thought.

"Dean—

"You don't go to the effort of making fancy shit just to toss it away, you moron." The teen insulted, though his words held no bite, but rather a deep-seated misery.

"Dad—

"He just forgot it."

"It was on the floor."

"Yeah, it fell. Stop overthinking it and come sit at the table."

Sam knew his brother was lying. Dean had always been a shit liar. But he wasn't going to call him out on it, because he knew it was his feelings that the older boy was trying to spare. And Sam wasn't going to make Dean defend their father, especially not after the turbulent morning his big brother had obviously already experienced. Even though Sam was constantly curious, he wasn't going to ask about what happened to the card or what happened between the two older Winchesters that morning – because as badly as the younger boy wanted to know, he had no desire to press Dean, not when his big brother was looking so defeated. Few things in life came before Sam's desire to learn and find answers – his big brother was one of those things. Dean and his sanity and his happiness were endlessly more important than Sam's search for knowledge. So, the younger boy simply nodded, taking a seat at the table and pretending not to notice when Dean placed the Father's Day card into his own duffle.

"I can make my own sandwich, you know." The younger boy commented instead, looking up at Dean as the teenager moved back to the kitchen counter and pulled the jam out of the tiny fridge.

"I am aware, but you've obviously got one hell of a headache brewing. So how about you just sit there and take it easy."

It didn't necessarily _surprise_ Sam that his big brother had detected his ailment, but with everything the teen had going on, his little brother certainly didn't expect him to take notice of something so minor. But at least Sam no longer had to fake it and could allow himself to drop his elbows on the table and cradle his aching skull.

A moment later a sandwich on a napkin was being slid in front of him, a warm hand settling against his back causing him to look up.

"When can you take more meds?"

Sam squinted at the question.

"Kiddo, please tell me you took _something_ , you look like you've got lava melting your brain."

Sam shivered at the imagery and the accuracy of it, because that was _exactly_ what he was certain was going on in his skull. And of course his big brother knew that by just looking at him. Sam was certain that Dean's so-called 'Sammy Sense' was less of a sense and more of a full-on superpower.

"Sammy."

The younger boy blinked a couple times as he looked up at the teenager, remembering that Dean had asked him a question but failing to recall what it was.

"Did you take anything yet?"

Sam was about to shake his head, but thought better of it and elected to whisper his response.

"No."

"Damnit, Sam." Dean muttered under his breath. "You know your headaches just keep getting worse until you take something."

"I know, M'sorry." He mumbled, burying his head back in his hands, pressing his palms into his eye-sockets and willing the pain away.

"Don't be sorry just take something next time." Dean instructed, his voice faded as he was walking away, the click of the mini-fridge opening informing Sam of his brother's whereabouts.

"Was gonna take some at lunch break but decided to walk back." Sam explained, the words mumbled into his hands.

"You marching around this town on your own is another conversation we need to have, but that can wait until you don't have to physically hold that big noggin of yours together." Dean declared, setting a cooled water bottle down next to the younger boy's elbow.

"S'not big." Sam replied, but quirked an appreciative smile up at the teen.

"Just looking at you makes my head hurt."

Sam frowned trying to figure out if he had been insulted or not, but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"You still got those pills in your bag?"

Sam gave a slight nod without bothering to remove his head from his hands.

"You know I gave those to you for your headaches – it'd only make sense if you used them."

Sam chose not to respond to that comment, he had no desire to explain to his protective big brother that he didn't like using the meds too often because he knew they were expensive and didn't want to waste them on minor aches, when something far more painful could be lurking around the corner.

No, that conversation certainly wouldn't go over too well.

"Sam."

The smaller boy popped his head up, Dean's tone was all wrong – it sounded alarmed and damn near scared – the sound of it sent a chill up Sam's spine. The teen's expression was just as unsettling, his green eyes wide and his complexion so pale it made his freckles appear twice as dark. The confused hazel eyes wandered down until they found the item Dean was holding out in his had, and it wasn't a pill bottle.

The needle.

In all the commotion of the afternoon Sam had completely forgotten about it.

"What the fuck is this?"

Sam had assumed his brother would be angry or confused, but all he could hear and see was Dean's absolute horror.

"I don't actually know." He admitted.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"He just put it—

"Who?"

"We've seen him a couple time, I think he works, well- umm…deals at the motel. He was walking behind me on the way down main street and—

"He followed you?"

Sam sighed, realizing it was going to take him awhile to get through this story.

"I mean, kinda. But I think he was just going to the alley. He didn't follow me all the way to school or anything, we were just walking in the same direction."

"And he gave you a syringe? And you just fucking accepted it?" Dean's outrage had arrived but his voice was still thankfully level – probably because even in his panic the teen was still considerate of his little brother's aching skull.

"No, of course not."

"Then what happened, how did you end up with this shit in your backpack."

Sam closed his eyes for just a second to gather his thoughts, knowing he would be just as worried and terrified as Dean so obviously was, if the situation was reversed.

"Shit."

Sam opened his eyes and watched as Dean carefully wrapped the syringe back up and set it cautiously on the table as far away from the younger boy as possible.

"Dean, it's okay. I was just thinking; I can tell you."

"And you will, but meds first."

"It's fine—

"It's not. You're in pain. This can wait."

Sam tossed the pills in his mouth and chased them down with water. He was grateful Dean was giving him time to de-weaponize the war waging in his skull, but he could feel the distress coming off the older boy and Sam hated it.

"Okay so –

"No. Eat your food first." Dean instructed, nudging the sandwich in Sam's direction.

"It's not going to go bad, Dean. I can just eat it on the walk back to school."

"The fact that you think you're going back to school shows me how out of it you are, and the fact that you think I'd let you _walk_ back there is straight-up delusional. Now eat your food."

Sam scowled at the demands.

"Seriously, Sammy. You haven't eaten all day – because if you were too worried about being quiet to make a lunch than I know you didn't make yourself any breakfast – so your blood sugar is probably practically in the negative and that cannot be helping your head. So eat."

Sam couldn't argue the logic, which was all levels of annoying. It irritated him that Dean always knew exactly how to argue with him. He obediently bit into his lunch, eating slowly and quietly as he kept a watch on his big brother. Tension was clear in Dean's posture and movements as he paced around the room, tidying up and doing other monotonous tasks, obviously looking to keep himself busy. Once his sandwich was gone and his water bottle was half drained his headache had faded enough that his head no longer felt like it was going to implode.

"Okay." He sighed, sitting up straighter and staring across the room at his big brother who was looking out the small window and fiddling with his stick knife.

"You sure? We got time. You could maybe lay down for a rest if you want."

Sam couldn't help but smile softly at the offer, because he could see how desperate his big brother was for information, how much the unknown was eating at him – but he knew just as well that the older boy would wait if it was what Sam needed.

And that was jut so _Dean_.

"It's okay. I'm good." He assured, nodding at the seat across from him.

Dean grunted a sound that indicated he wasn't certain he believed the youngest Winchester, but took a seat nonetheless, his gaze falling accusingly on the object still wrapped in paper towel on the corner of the wooden surface.

The teenager sat shockingly silent as Sam relayed the events, his fists clenched the entire. He growled when Sam mentioned how the dealer had grabbed his bag and then flinched at the news that the older man had suggested Sam's big brother didn't share his own 'stash'.

Sam had assumed relaying the events would put Dean at ease – that the teen would feel better knowing Sam did not intentionally acquire any sort of narcotics and that he had not been threatened or hurt in any way – but at the end of the explanation, Dean looked absolutely gutted.

"Fuck." He cursed, running his hands aggressively through his hair in a way that Sam knew had to hurt.

"Dean, it's okay."

"Jesus, Sam, it is _not_ okay. _Nothing_ about this is okay." Dean rasped, pushing back from the table to stand, only to rake his fingers through his hair so aggressively that it had his little brother itching to get up and swat the older boy's hand away from his poor head.

"Nothing happened, no one got hurt. It's fine." Sam placated gently.

Dean dropped back into his chair as he released a dark broken chuckle that Sam couldn't remember ever hearing in his life – and prayed he would never hear again.

"Fine? Yeah, sure. It's fine that you fucking starved yourself because you were too nervous to wake anyone and have your head bitten off about it. It's fine that your walk to school is a goddamn nightmare. It's fine that some monster tried to sell you drugs and then just fucking gave you a syringe full of hell knows what."

Sam really wished Dean was shouting or raging or doing anything other than rambling in that raspy and shredded tone with his slumped defeated position.

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam assured, leaning forward, trying to get a view of the freckled face – something he immediately regretted as his big brother looked up; the teen's expression was eviscerated, his ashen face the epitome of devastation. Sam felt like he couldn't breathe, the magnitude of his brother's anguish causing the younger boy's chest to constrict.

"You didn't touch this needle, right?" Dean asked, pointing to the syringe.

Sam shook his head.

"You sure? It doesn't have a cap on it so if it stuck you or pricked you at all, I need to know."

"It didn't. I never touched the needle part."

"Good. That's good."

"Honestly, Dean. I'm okay." Sam added after a moment, unsettled by the fact that his brother was still so distressed.

Dean took a shaky breath, his head dropping back down, and when he looked up again a long moment later, his eyes were red.

"If you had so much as touched that needle, if he hadn't given you a choice and just stuck you with it, or if it had poked you through your bag – Fuck, buddy, do you have any idea how bad that could be? What kind of diseases you could have contracted – diseases that have no cure? Diseases that could kill you? And all because you were just trying to walk to school. How is that okay?" Dean choked out.

Sam was so overwhelmed by his brother's pain – he felt like he was drowning in it, he could only imagine how much worse it was for Dean.

"But that didn't happen. I didn't get pricked with it and he didn't hurt me – I don't think he would have, he wasn't like that, he didn't try to force me to do anything."

"Ha!" The barked laugh held no joy, just a hollow anguish that made Sam's insides ache. "He put it in your bag, Sam."

"I know but he didn't try to do anything or even ask for money."

"That's how some of those bastards do business. They seem nice about it, ya? They make it seem like it's your choice. Maybe even like they're doing you a favor. The first fix is free and all that shit. That's how they get you hooked. That's how they make new customers, keep'em coming back and when they can't afford to pay the price anymore they make them earn it another way. You're a kid, a _child_ , Sam; that asshole knew you wouldn't be able to afford that shit and once he got you hooked he'd make you work for him, have you selling or – fuck – or make you do other things to earn it. He wasn't just doing you a favor or trying to drum up some business. He was trying to find his new recruit, his new employee, his new _victim_. And you were just on your way to _school_. **Nothing** about any of this is okay."

"Dean—

"I'm going to kill that monster." The teenager suddenly snapped, bursting to his feet.

"No!" Sam shouted in reply, standing just as quickly and rushing around the table to grab his brother's arm before he made it to the door.

"I need to take care of this, Sam. You stay here."

"No! Please, Dean. You can't."

"I can and I will! Anyone who tries to hurt you like that answers to me." Dean practically growled, trying to tug his arm from Sam's unyielding grip.

"No! Dean, please! You know he doesn't work alone, you just talked about how he has employees – how he tried to recruit me. He's never in the alley on his own. If you go for him people will come for you!" Sam rambled the words all rushing out of him in his rush to keep his brother safe.

"Let them try." Dean sneered.

"No! I won't let you! Not while we are still living here, you'll be in danger everyday. It's not safe, Dean, _please_." Sam could see Dean begin to sway, his violent conviction beginning to waiver as he began to put in less effort to shake the younger boy off – but the furry flaring in the green eyes made it clear that he was still ready to rush out the door and rip the lungs out of the dealer. So Sam had to step it up before Dean put himself at risk. "They know who I am, Dean. If you do something to that guy his friends could find out and they could come for me."

It was a low blow, Sam was aware – but when it came to keeping his big brother safe, there was no tactic the younger boy wouldn't utilise.

It worked, like Sam suspected it would.

Dean deflated, dropping back into the chair that had been slid back in his haste.

"We can't even leave, cause Dad took the car. Can't move because everything available is too far from your school. I can't beat that piece of shit into the ground or even go to the cops without putting a target the size of Cleveland on our backs. Fuck."

Sam couldn't recall a time he ever saw his big brother more lost than at that moment. Dean was at the end of the rope. He was shattering right before Sam's eyes.

The one person who loved Sam more than anything – who had held him just last night when his dad's callous behaviour had broken the younger boy's heart. The one person who had done everything he could to make Father's Day better for his little brother. The one person who always put his own disappointment and hurt and exhaustion aside to focus on Sam.

It wasn't fair.

And Sam couldn't stand there and watch it for another moment.

The younger boy moved from his position in between Dean and the door and shuffled a slow couple steps to the teen curled over in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging low. Sam shifted until he was standing in between his brother's legs – thankful for once for his small size making the maneuver a seamless one. Dean sat back a little to accommodate the slim frame, but he remained hunched in on himself with his head down. Sam knew he was hiding, which probably had something to do with the occasional sniffle he could hear coming from the teen.

It escaped Sam sometimes how young his big brother really was.

How Dean was really just a child himself, and yet he had all the responsibility of a grown-up, including raising a kid – it wasn't right and it wasn't okay, but it was their reality and Sam was beginning to learn that there really isn't much that can be done to fight what is simply fact.

But Sam could make it better.

He could do what Dean was _always_ doing for him – especially at times where he was hurting and broken, like last night – he could find a way to make it better, do something to alleviate some of the pain and heal a fraction of the hurt.

He reached out and slid his hand onto the back of his brother's neck, something that both John and Dean had done to Sam on occasion, and squeezed it gently.

"It's okay." He whispered softly – it seemed like a louder tone would fracture the young man's already precarious resolve.

Dean remained perfectly still, not pulling away but also not appearing to relax in the least. Sam took another step forward and slid his hand up onto the back of the older boy's head, the short brown hair unkept and soft between his fingers.

"It's okay, big brother."

Dean released a guttural noise, the strangled sound of pain being choked down. Sam's heart clenched, his chest physically hurting in response to the agony that was emitting from his hero in waves.

He pressed against his brother's head with his small hand, Dean resisted at first – but Sam has always been obnoxiously persistent and eventually the older boy relented and allowed his little brother to pull his head forward into his shoulder. With Dean sitting down, Sam was about his height – even a little taller with the teen curled into himself the way he was.

"It's okay." Sam repeated, his voice even softer now that his mouth was next to his brother's ear. He could hear Dean's sharp inhale, his forehead rolling against Sam's collarbone as he shook his head. Sam brought his other arm up, wrapping it around Dean's back across his shoulders. He'd obviously hugged his brother before, but never like this – mostly due to his height but also because when they hugged Dean was often giving the comfort and Sam was receiving, far too rarely was it the other way around. Not because Sam didn't want to be there or that he didn't think Dean ever needed consoling, but because the youngest Winchester had learned that comforting his brother took tact and could seldom be done outright without being met with rejection. Usually Sam had to get creative, normally such a blatantly gentle strategy would never work and the fact that it did was a testament to just how much wrecked Dean was.

"It's okay, De." Sam rasped, his own emotion clogging his throat as he tried to blink away the tears collecting in his eyes.

"It's not." Dean protested, voice cracking as he moved his arms from where they were draped over his knees, and wrapped them around his little brother's waist. "It's not okay. You almost- you could've – fuck. Sammy. It's not okay. You're just a kid. It's not okay." Dean choked out, tugging his little brother closer, tucking the smaller boy into his chest as he hooked his chin over Sam's shoulder.

Sam held on tighter, both his arms wrapped around the older boy, his cheek pressed against the side of Dean's neck as he sniffled.

"I'm okay and you're okay. We're okay, De." Sam knew he was sounding like a broken record, but what else did he have to offer?

Dean's chest heaved as his breath hitched and his grip became nearly bruising. Sam did his best to return the pressure, as though he could physically hold his big brother together and keep him from fracturing into pieces.

"We're okay. And that's what matters. We'll figure the rest out. Right?" It was meant to be confirming but Sam could hear a tinge of his own helplessness hidden in the statement. He was repeating phrases Dean had told him time and time again, for as long as Sam could remember. He wanted to say them with the same conviction that his big brother always seemed to have, but Sam couldn't do this without Dean – he couldn't live this life without Dean, and he sure as shit wouldn't be okay without the person who meant the world to him.

He waited in the silence, hoping Dean was with him, because if he wasn't – well, Sam's mind couldn't even go to a place that dark.

After a long moment, Sam felt Dean nodding against his shoulder.

"Damn straight, little brother."

A dizzying relief flooded through the younger boy and his breath hitched as he hugged his big brother with all the force his little frame could exert.

"We're okay." Dean stated, his tone still wavering with emotion, but conveying a peace that wasn't there before, and maybe even a sliver of hope.

"We're okay." Sam repeated, happy to provide all the assurance his big brother needed as he felt Dean tighten his grip just a fraction at the words.

Sam was happy to stand there all day and have the oxygen squeezed right out of him if it would do anything to help his big brother.

He'd stand there and hold the young hunter until Dean was ready to once again face the world.

He would provide the security and comfort his big brother always gave so freely to him.

He would love Dean the way that Dean loved him – selflessly and unconditionally.

He would do everything he could to protect the older boy.

He would always be there for his big brother.

No matter what.

And when John would call that night, his sons would tell him that they were fine. Because that was what they knew he wanted to hear. Because they wanted to make him proud. Because they didn't want to be worry him. And because it was the truth.

Even though they were low on cash, even though the motel was cramped and sketchy, even though the town wasn't safe, even though both boys were overwhelmed and exhausted and hurting – everything was fine. They were okay.

Because they were together.

And as long as Sam had Dean and Dean had Sam – they would always be okay.

Because Dean made Sam feel heard and protected and loved every damn day of the year.

And Sam would do the same for his big brother, even though Dean didn't always make it easy – but his little brother would always find a way.

Because even the badass hunter, the hero, the person who _raised_ Sam, needed to know he was loved.

To know that someone on the planet would **always** be there for him.

To know that he would never be alone in the world.

To know that he was valued and appreciated.

To know that he was loved.

And loving Dean was easily the most important thing Sam had ever done.

* * *

Note: Thoughts? Sorry if the editing is faulty, it's late and I just sort of scanned it. I'd love to hear your thoughts though! I'm going to try to start replying to reviews/comments again, but sometimes things get crazy so no promises. Do know though, that I seriously value each one and save a lot of them and read them when I need inspiration or encouragement to keep writing. Thanks for reading! - Sam


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